[Swing Beach] Resonance Pt I

[Alric Lysane]

41st Fall 522 AV - Southern Swing Beach

Once through the Dovecote his eyes scanned the area, hoping to find no one who might want to interact with him, not because he didn’t interact with the people of Syka, but because he wanted to be alone this evening. It wasn’t difficult really, he was often alone these days. It was a sad thing, to come all the way across the world and not really have people that wished to associate. He supposed it was something he deserved, he had sent a letter which had led to the death of Mistress Hess. He had been given gifts by Mathias and yet had still failed at delivering the Priest of Rhysol’s ending for the settlement. And the woman he had come for had left him to himself, an extension of the curse from the Spring. They spent some tie together, evenings at Garden Beach mostly, but it was few and far between and she itched to be roaming in the jungle.

He couldn’t blame her, he knew, as he found Ovek gave him grace and ensured none of the Founders – or Buraga or Stu – were around to intercept him. After all, who would choose to spend an evening with a damaged scoundrel over a ride on an Ixam. He had experienced that himself now and he knew what the clear winner would be. In some ways it had been a good thing – it had forced him into dealing with himself, what little of that he had managed to do before Cervisi’s loop had imposed itself. He paused in his walk for a few moments, considering that the bleak mood could also be because of his experience at the Reading Room, and his perspective might be soured slightly. He acknowledged that, and yet still there was truth there that was difficult to find comfort for. He sighed, raked his hair back and let his hand slip onto Zhyad’s hilt, it offered him comfort as if he were still upon the streets of Sunberth and in danger. He set off once more, his aim being a secluded rocky alcove further up the beach and to the southern edges of Swing Beach.

“How familiar this has become since Stu showed it to me” he muttered to himself once he had arrived, mercifully alone and without company.

“Nymkarta”

“Gods!” Alric shouted, startled by Jade’s sudden words and feeling his heart pounding a quick rhythm at the surprise, “don’t do that” he said shakily as his hand patted at his chest and he bent over at the waist slightly.

“Do what? Speak?”

“Sneak up on me like that”

“I have been here the whole time…I think you humans forget”

“What?”

“Gasvik are good at being silent, unseen…I flit from your thoughts often and you don’t realise”

“You…you…you’re probably right. Sorry…just…it’s been a long day already”

“I noticed. You were distraught at the Reading Room. Why?”

“Because it’s difficult to be confronted with how messed up you are. Why are you interested?”

“Your health is my concern…at times”

“That was humour? Gasvik humour?”

“You told me humour helps stressful situations. Don’t complain that I do it on your advice”

“Look…I just wanted to be alone Jade. I’m not sure I’m up to any verbal sparring anymore today…please?”

“Fine. I will watch over the little ones whilst you…think. But I wanted to you to know that you were given these burdens because it was believed you were more your father than…whatever you think yourself to be. Do not discount yourself so easily”

Alric’s mouth opened and then stayed there, his finger up and ready to try for some kind of morbid retort, but he hadn’t the energy. Besides which the Gasvik had neatly cut through his mental fog of shadowy thoughts and barbed self-recriminations. He simply watched the Gasvik leave, shocked and concerned that he was rubbing off on the creature far too much in some ways. Instead, he let himself fall to his knees slowly, until he was in a kneeling meditative position, and with his head bowed and his hands braced upon his thighs, sighed and wondered where he was even to begin with the day’s events.

Stu had taught him how to process, but he hadn’t really covered how to integrate new experiences. In fairness that was because Alric hadn’t asked him, too concerned about the past ones. Now, alone upon the beech, he stared into he grains of sand before him and wondered what the point of it all was supposed to be.


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[Alric Lysane]

He didn’t understand what Jade meant, what little memory of Kalas he had made it clear that the pair of them were radically different. He had spent much time since that fateful meeting in Sunberth pondering it all and every time he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Kalas had gone through. Some he knew, had seen even thanks to the Dreamwalker, and others he had been told. All of it, however, spoke of someone far stronger than Alric was. He had barely gotten through a small taste of what Kalas had no doubt gone through. The man had apparently burned his own Djed out, shown Krysus a humiliation in more ways than one, after watching what Sran’tuka had done to Serana and survived. To look after and be with the one he loved no less. He had disobeyed a goddess. No, he was so far beyond Alric there wasn’t even a lineage that the son could even begin to make out.

“Given to me because they thought I was strong, and ironically proving them wrong…bloody divines” he whispered to himself, pulling the only relic he had of his father’s side of the family, beyond tattered memories, and laying it upon across the top of his thighs, as if it might reflect the answer for him in Syna’s fading lights.

It was a beautiful thing, a rose-gold in colour and unlike anything he had ever owned, or seen really. The care that must have gone into its crafting was clear, its deign elegant and beautiful. The hilt and guard, stylised Velispar complete with azurite gems for eyes spoke of a wealth that he could never imagine achieving. Yet it was his now, passed down from his Grandfather through time, for a reason he didn’t know. It was said to be meant for him, though he couldn’t think why that would be, why it would skip Kalas. Surely a fine blade would find better use in greater hands? Yet, it was what destiny has decreed and he doubted anyone could have stopped it, even if they had wanted to. There were so many unanswered questions, he knew, as his fingers lovingly traced across the weapon, exploring it as they had done so often and once again finding no answers to the mystery. Yet another whisper of a lack of worth. A blade that was supposed to awaken for him, and yet remained very much asleep.

“What are you waiting for? Some kind of grand event? Some show of ability?” he asked softly, sighing to himself as was the usual routine and then smiling sadly, “you may be waiting for quite some time” he finished, continuing to take Zhyad in and admire.

He tapped into his well and drew upon his Djed, slowly painting its raw form over Zhyad, as if he were hoping to Shield it from the outside world. He never tasked it, merely made sure it was covered in its entirety, as if by sharing part of himself with the blade it would somehow form that unknown bond, that it might connect him with his ancestors as if they were sat beside him, watching the inheritor of what they had wrought. He doubted that they would be happy with what they saw, but at least it would mean they were there somehow, that they could answer so many questions he had. Provide him with direction…and with their strength. How he sorely needed all of those things, yet he never expected them to manifest – not after the first attempt. Now it was a ritual, a showing of love for the only link he had to them all, and to Zhyad itself.

It was the only way he knew how to show it. The weapon never needed sharpening really, it had hardly seen use and was made of some unknown material none had seen before – he had asked – that kept an edge better than most blades did. He knew the oiling weapons was important, to prevent rust and other things, yet again Zhyad needed none of that. The scabbard was old and battered, he could replace it, but it seemed almost an affront as it felt like they went together – at least for now. So, he hummed a tune, the same tune that had come to him the first time, but he didn’t know where it came from, and did the closest thing he could do to oiling the blade – sharing his Djed, and thus himself, with it.


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[Alric Lysane]

It was just as he was starting to calm down and feel as if he were more centered, the way he had been before visiting the Outpost, that the images flashed across his mind’s eye once more. It didn’t happen as often anymore, time and effort put into dealing with them having both dulled the impact and stunted the frequency, yet they now came at random, triggered usually when he was thinking about related matters. He had thought of his father a lot, and thus the link to Krysus, and now…he breathed in sharply and tipped forwards, Zhyad falling to the sands and his hands coming to slam atop it, shaking fingers grasping at handfuls of grains. His muscled tensed as the memories can rushing through, breathing becoming shallow and ragged, almost panting.

They were mostly about the torture this time, rather than the torturing of others. Unknown amounts of time spent under knife, whip, club, talons, fangs and the gods knew what else. After a while the sick irony was that you didn’t even know, or care, anymore. You just wanted it to stop. Your body became so destroyed, in such creative ways, that it became numb, and the torture was less about the pain and increasingly about whether you broke mentally. So many times he had told her where she could stick it, or where he could stick it to get rid of her animosity. Foolish words, defiant like the leaf was defiant of the wind. Or stone was to water. And time continued, the cycle repeating much like Cervisi’s loop had done, and she rebuilt him…then tore him up again. Then rebuilt…then eventually…broke. He felt the pain sear through him again and then with the last flashes he saw his shame…himself upon his knees grovelling.

“P-P-Petch!” he managed to get out in the end, after a massive gasp of air his body desperately needed, his eyes bulging and then he folded further forward, head into the sand, and the sobs started to wrack through him as they always did when he was alone, no one to stay in control for.

He was like that for a while, eyes shut tight as he wrestled his mind back under his own control, forcing the memories back as tears wet his cheeks and fell to the sand and blade beneath him. He didn’t know how long he was like that for but what brought him back to the present moment was the sensation of pain – physical pain this time. After a further handful of chimes it became sharp enough to tell him where it came from – his fingertips on his left hand. Blinking he regained control of his breathing and pushed himself up, investigating the sensation, and found he had sliced them upon the edge of Zhyad’s blade in the spasms. It had trickled across the metal along with his tears, a few slivers of his Djed still present mixed within. He hissed with the pain and stuck his fingers in his mouth, his tongue and saliva seeking the stem the bleeding, the taste of copper at least giving him something else to think about beyond the memories.

It was as he was wiping the back if his hand across his eyes to dry them and trying to stem the bleeding that his gaze fell once more upon Zhyad, finally seeing it in all its splendour since he had pushed himself up. It looked…shinier…catching the light in an almost magical way. It shimmered and felt somehow more real, as if it had become more vibrant and colourful, more solid in ways he couldn’t fully comprehend. He gazed upon it, with as much affection as he could muster, admiring the remnant of his Djedline on one side, and then the music hit him full force. It was the same tune as he had been humming to himself, but more melancholy and in some ways more comforting. What shocked him fully was that it was real. It wasn’t his humming anymore, it was as if he were listening to a performer play it on a Tenday.

Picking Zhyad up with his right hand he turned it this way and that, somehow knowing that the moment had arrived – it had awoken. However, he had managed it, he had done it. He hummed along with the tune, noting he was out of sync in some parts, the tune changed slightly each go around, but he matched it as best he could as a smile broke out across his face.


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[Alric Lysane]

As he hummed Zhyad seemed to almost pulse along with the rhythm, though that could have just been his imagination – it had been a long…well lifetime really. Still, it felt real to him, as if the blade were trying to speak to him but he couldn’t listen, instead merely seeing light and vibration. The music grew louder and louder, filling his ears until there was nothing else that he could hear. Not even the blood rushing in them could be heard, drowned out as it was with the melody. It was delicate yet strong, unpredictable enough to be mysterious, yet constant enough to make him able to follow along. He felt something inside himself, a glowing sensation that pulsed also, and he realised that his Djed was almost resonating with the weapon, responding in kind subconsciously.

As he realised this he felt a prickle star upon the back of his right hand, watching the hairs upon the back of his forearm start to rise up. The sensation spread in a rippling across his entire body, filling him with an energy that was almost crackling, reminiscent of when he used the Flux, tingling and making him feel both nervous and as if he could achieve anything in the world, if he put his mind to it. He knew it was a dangerous line of thinking to have and reigned it back a bit, but the rippling continued and Zhyad almost felt like it were vibrating slightly, pulsing like the music and he felt sure it was trying to communicate.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, almost in awe of what he was seeing and feeling, “I don’t have this…magic. What was it? Voril! Vorilescence. I’m new” he continued, hoping that Zhyad would understand.

The broadsword seemed to respond, dimming slightly and he felt a sense of retreat. Yet it didn’t disappear entirely, nor did it fill back asleep. He was absolutely certain now that Zhyad had awoken, it felt warmer to his touch, as if the sentience it was reputed to have by its blade type were fully infused and roaringly active, a once banked fire kindled back into life. He tried to remember what little he had studied of Ruros’ legacy within the T&T with Taz, what seemed like a lifetime ago, but his mind was so scattered he only remembered assorted facts. He pushed himself to his feet shakily, wondering what it was he was supposed to do next with their language gap. His eyes took in the etching upon the blade – its name of ‘Revealer’ in the ancient tongue.

“Revealer…I’ve been waiting for you to waken. I can’t imagine you’ll think I’m as good a wielder as my grandfather…but I’ll learn. I’ve learned much already in a short time. Guide me, reveal to me the secrets of my family...please” he said to the blade, assuming it could understand him given his minimal understanding of the magic.

The music returned, slamming into him and building all the way towards a crescendo. He tried to stay upon his feet, but his knees buckled after about five chimes, strength leaving them after the stresses of the day. The music continued to pulse and fill his ears util it seemed to shove its way into he centre of his skull, rebounding around on the inside. He thought he started to grunt and growl but he couldn’t be sure as he heard nothing else but Zhyad’s music. There were no words, but he thought there were…feelings…or he was so overwhelmed that he was imagining everything. Yet he thought there was an echo in the notes somewhere, like a separate melody within the melody, that spoke to him of promise and potential, of strength as of yet unknown, and a coming reckoning that he was unaware of. It was soon after that he started to slump forwards, left hand outstretched to prop himself up as he started to recognise the signs of overgiving and desperately tried to unclench his right hand. He failed as Zhyad seemed to hold fast to him.

Just before he passed out there was a large shadow blocking out the last light of Syna – Jade had arrived, and he wrenched Zhyad free and he felt it fall to the sand beside him just before his eyes closed – the music much diminished but still there, singing him to his rest.


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[Alric Lysane]

When he woke it was with a throbbing head and a groan, the pain rippling out from the temples, and his hands came up to rub at his face even before his vision fully returned and cleared. After a long while of bringing the feeling back into his face his hands came away and he realised they were damp in places – blood had trickled out of one nostril and he rubbed it away with the back of his hand with a series of other grumbles. His eyes found Zhyad, laid out upon the sand besides him, and he discovered he had been propped up against a palm tree trunk where his head had lolled at an angle that caused his neck muscles to ache.

“You are lucky I was returning Nymkarta” came Jade’s voice inside his skull, a granite like scraping against raw nerves.

“I know...I wasn’t expecting it to happen...was unprepared,” he muttered quietly, pinching his brow against the aches, “can you...speak a little less loudly please Jade? My head hurts”

“Zhyad looks more...vibrant. Feels...different. Possibilities have...opened. What happened?”

Alric nodded along with Jade’s words slowly, not too vigorously so as to preserve his pounding skull, and took some time to run through what he remembered of the awakening. It was blurry towards the end, but the sensations and feeling were intact. The music was something he would remember for the rest of his life, it was beautiful in an ethereal way, somehow beyond what he now thought of as ‘normal’ music. The closest he could think of had been when Taz had used her Audius to help him first touch his Djed Well. He took a long time to walk Jade through it, explaining what he remembered in as much detail as possible, including the impressions he had gotten from Zhyad.

“Blood”

“What?” Alric asked, suddenly lost with the sudden right turn in their conversation.

“You’d tried all of those things, but not all at once. Mathias said that Zhyad was waiting, you awakened it with your Djed, tears and blood. All things both personal and yet also not just of you...but of its last wielder – your Grandfather. Perhaps it slept, sorrow keeping it slumbering, until someone of his bloodline called to it with a similar emotion at play. It spoke to you, you said?”

“Well I think it did, it’s difficult to know for sure. It felt like it did, more a change in the music and the emotions it created”

“And I agree with it”

"What are you on about? My head is splitting, can you please speak plainly? We can go back to cryptic tomorrow” he sighed, rubbing his face once more and then his gaze lingered upon the now fallen, but very vibrant, blade.

“You show much promise Nymkarta. Zhyad recognises this, even if what brought it awake was your current weakness and sorrow”

“You’ve seen my life right? What a load of bull-”

“You are still alive. Still standing. Things might not be ideal but you have taken many blows and still carry on. Sarcastic, bitter and generally worse for wear...but still”

“Thanks, that makes me feel much better”

“You think yourself so much lesser to Kalas and Serana. It eats you up slowly, and you ignore what those closest to you tell you. Xhyvas showed you what he did because he thought you were strong enough to weather it. He is rarely wrong...though his methods you might not appreciate”

“Jade...did you just critici-”

“No”

“I’m pretty sure yo-”

“No. I told you the truth. Just because things are difficult now does not mean you will not grow to be...better...than those before you. If that were not the case why did Zhyad awaken? Perhaps you should start to listen more”

Alric had little in the way of rebuttal to what Jade said, instead looking into the middle distance thoughtfully as the Gasvik looked at him, eventually leaving to take care of Lys and Lexi once more and leaving Alric to his thoughts. After a while he reached out, hesitating slightly, and then touched Zhyad once more. The music was as beautiful as before but less raw and slightly more muted, as if the weapon had realised it had overwhelmed him before. He spent some time listening to it, trying to understand and communicate, but what he got was the sense that Zhyad had retreated slightly inward until it was the right time – though he was willing to admit it could just be his own flight of fancy.

He slipped it back into its scabbard, then spent some time looking out over the horizon, wondering what to do with what Zhyad and Jade had given him this day.


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